


A Dance For Three

by SquigglySky



Series: Like Adornments Upon Your Arms [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Halamshiral, M/M, Not any actual sex, talks of elf oppression :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquigglySky/pseuds/SquigglySky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halamshiral awaits and Lavellan can't decide if he wants to be irritated or nervous.</p>
<p>Well, save the Empress, catch the assassin and have sex in a locked room. All in a day's work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dance For Three

**Author's Note:**

> This thing was finished half a year ago, but I didn't finish the previous part before now.
> 
> Also, can you tell I really hate the oppression of elves? Because I do >:^(

Mahanon sighed, staring ahead, right into the wall opposite of him in the carrier. Dorian and Cullen watched, both equally curious and confused. Of course, the elf had stated that he was not good at the Game, nor did he think he’d be able to do it. But that didn’t seem to be what was on his mind this time.

“Amatus?” Dorian asked, braving the subject. Mahanon looked over at him, eyes going out, then into focus.

“Yes?” he asked back, frowning a little. Cullen tilted his head to the side, watching him from beside him as Dorian leaned forward, resting on his knees.

“What’s the matter? Is it the nervosity?” Dorian asked. Mahanon sighed again and leaned back against the wall in the carrier.

“No, but I wish it was…” he murmured. Cullen laid a hand on the elf’s shoulder, making him look over at him. Mahanon stared at him, intently before he groaned and closed his eyes before he dropped a little forward. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him and Cullen frowned.

“If you don’t feel well we can head back,” the commander offered.

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s not that,” Mahanon muttered.

“Then what has occupied your beautiful mind?” Dorian asked and the elf flushed, ears twitching. The Tevinter mage smirked, glad his little distraction had worked. Cullen was glad for it too.

“It’s because the ball is held at Halamshiral,” the elf admitted.

“At Halamshiral? Specifically?” Dorian asked and Mahanon nodded, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Halamshiral belonged to my people,” the elf murmured. Dorian’s face fell and he leaned back, turning to stare out of the carrier window.

“The exalted march did very, very few good things,” the man muttered.

“The Dales were my people’s last land, it was all we had left… Halamshiral is unique because it’s still mostly occupied by elves, but they are still not free to do what they want, or need. There’s too much oppression. One of the reasons I didn’t want to aid Celene is because she’s done nothing to help the relations between elves and humans… in Halamshiral they hold grand balls and the elves are servants. Shemlen treat them like objects,” Mahanon snarled, glaring down at the floor. Cullen and Dorian startled, glancing at each other before the commander sighed.

“Would you prefer it if the elves got to rule again?” Cullen inquired, and the Inquisitor looked up at him.

“To be honest, I doubt it would lead to anything good right now. Albeit, I want the Dales to be returned to the elves, we need a steady country to be able to rebuild that we have lost, and it would not work if we reclaimed Halamshiral, we’d be at odds with Orlais all the time. Worst case, it would just create another exalted march… my people wouldn’t be able to survive it,” Mahanon replied, shaking his head. Dorian narrowed his eyes before he hummed.

“If all the slaves of Tevinter could be free’d, you’d have an army at your disposal. It’s sad to think that there are more enslaved elves in one country than there are free elves in all of Thedas combined,” he said. Mahanon nodded.

“So you see then? How can I, a Dalish elf, the ‘Herald of Andraste’ walk into the very capital of my people’s country and not try to do something about it?” the elf asked, taking a deep breath. Cullen’s hand wandered to his back to rub gently, it made Mahanon relax, if only a little.

“We understand. Some day, the Inquisition might be able to help with that,” he murmured and Mahanon turned to look at him, blue eyes filled with worry and concern, but then he nodded and a bright, brave fire appeared in his eyes.

“Of course, but first, saving the Empress… right?”

“Yes, that first.”

 

Mahanon was walking down one of the sides of the ballroom, on his way to see Cullen when he noticed the frankly insane amount of followers the commander had gotten. The man himself, was flushed, trying his very hardest not to engage in any conversations. There was a marquise standing to his left, far too close for it to be a coincidence. The elf restrained his need to burn the bastard and instead stepped through the flock of women and men.

“There you are. Anything I can help you with, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, voice a little high pitched. He was almost at the stage of panic. Mahanon pulled up his best smile and stepped close, enough that the followers couldn’t hear should he whisper. The marquise to his left stepped away after a necessary glare.

“All is well. I just thought I’d hear how our dearly popular Commander were doing,” Mahanon replied, trying his hardest to keep his voice straight and firm, but amused. Cullen gave him a look of agony and the elf had to grit his teeth to avoid laughing.

“As well as any…” the commander replied with a tight voice, crossing his arms.

“Who are all these sh- people?” Mahanon asked, catching himself before the court could kick him out for calling annoying women and men shemlen. Cullen sighed.

“I don’t know. They won’t leave me alone,” he murmured, sounding pained.

“Should I see if we can’t whisk you away for a while? To calm your nerves?” Mahanon asked when he realized the marquise from before was nearing again. The elf leveled him with a nasty glare and crossed his arms. The man backed away for now, almost stumbling. He’d be damned before anyone touched his commander. A thrill ran up his spine at that thought.  _ His _ Commander. Yes, that was a good feeling.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll live. For now…” Cullen replied, but he mouthed a thank you when the marquise kept his distance. Mahanon smiled, then leaned a little, causing a stir of whispers to rise behind him.

“I’m hoping for a dance once the problems have been dealt with. If you’re still alive by then,” he whispered. Cullen’s cheeks flushed and he opened his mouth, then clamped it shut, making him look like a fish gasping for air before he finally found his words.

“Um- I-I-... Templars never attended ball’s, so I don’t know how to dance. Surely Dorian would be more pre-”

“Him too, but I won’t get this chance again, I’m taking it. If you’re willing,” Mahanon whispered, not stopping then wide grin nearly splitting his face in half. Cullen’s jaw tightened before he nodded.

“I’d… be honored,” Cullen whispered back, smiling a little, though it was tight. Mahanon’s grin widened a fraction before he leaned back.

“Great, do let me know whenever you’re free,  _ Commander _ Cullen,” he clarified before he stepped away, a little more relaxed than before. He knew the commander’s face had darkened with a blush and it made him feel a little less jittery as he walked around listening to rumors or gathering blackmail. A nice change of pace and with one dance in the pocket, it was time for him to sneak into the library.

 

Dorian, for all his handsome features and easy posture, was, unlike Cullen, without a single follower as he stood by himself in the garden. Mahanon frowned, but kept himself steady as he neared, ditching the three ladies that honestly creeped him out.

“There you are. I’m glad you came,” Mahanon called out once Dorian noticed him. A glass was resting in the man’s hand. The elf raised an eyebrow, but kept the relaxed smile on his face. Dorian smiled back, eyes brightening.

“And expose myself to all this exquisite finery and exotic wines? Such hardship,”

“I mean it. Besides, not everyone’s friendly,” Mahanon stated and Dorian’s smile widened.

“I am aware. You’d think I smelt of cabbages, the way they wrinkle their noses at me. It’s of no concern, but thank you.” The elf tilted his head a little, hands resting against his back, which was his ‘Inquisitor stance’.

“You look at ease here,” Mahanon noted and Dorian chuckled.

“I am. This is all so familiar. I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners,” he told him, placing his hands on his hips, an eyebrow raised in amusement. Mahanon gave him a look of disbelief, then he chuckled.

“What if your mother were actually here? Where would we be then?” he asked, amused.

“Short one mage after he’s dragged out by his earlobe,” Dorian replied, huffing. 

“I… I’m having difficulty picturing that,” Mahanon admitted and the mage sighed.

“Picture me, a young boy at five years, then. She certainly always has.” The elf snorted. He could picture that actually. A tiny, dark haired hellion running around with books and setting things on fire. A few servants rushing after, trying to push the child into formal clothing. Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

“You are picturing that, aren’t you?” he asked, amused. Mahanon chuckled.

“I am, actually… you must have been so cute.” At that, Dorian flushed, cheeks taking on a deep red. He also looked very surprised at that. Mahanon tilted his head a little, grinning when the Tevinter mage continued to stare at him, speechless.

“Me? Cute? Hah, that was a long time ago,” Dorian finally managed to utter. He was probably meant to sound amused and jokeful, but it came out a bit pinched. Mahanon knew why. He decided to allow Dorian some peace with that subject and moved on to another. But he looked grateful. He still wasn’t good at accepting actual compliments that didn’t have to do with his looks alone.

“Is this how the elite of Tevinter carry on then?” Mahanon asked and Dorian’s right hand went round his waist while the other went up, so he was resting his thumb and finger on his jaw.

“You could almost mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double dealing, elegant poison, canapés… it’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic, but the night  _ is _ still young,” he explained, smirking. Mahanon gave him a startled look.

“T-that-” Dorian’s face fell in alarm and his hands went out a little.

“No, no, my dear amatus. Calm down- It was purely jest. I highly doubt that will happen, and I for one, would be highly disappointed should it come to pass,” he quickly reassured him. Mahanon nodded slowly, looking away. Dorian gave a heavy sigh and put his hands on his hips again, but the elf had already turned back, smiling softly before he took a deep breath. The lavender smell was stifling indoors, but out here it was fresh and calming.

“Don’t wear yourself out mingling. I expecting a dance before this is over,” he stated, amused when Dorian huffed, a smile appearing on his face once more.

“Dancing with the evil magister, in full view of every noble in Orlais? How shocking.”

“They’ll live,” Mahanon replied easily once they went back into their joking banter. It made him relax, just like Cullen’s presence did.

“You say that now. If you find me ten silk scarves, I’ve got a dance that will  _ really _ shock them… on the other hand, I assume you’ve also asked our dear Commander this question?” he asked back, smirking now. Mahanon almost grinned, but managed a crooked smirk instead.

“Of course, and I might just get you those scarves if you’re willing to do a private dance later on,” the elf added and Dorian’s eyes widened ever so slightly. They certainly weren’t alone in the garden, so there was no doubt the nobles around had heard that. The Tevinter mage stared at him in surprise, then he laughed, mirt very much visible.

“Count on it. Now go and do your thing,” he replied, just shaking from laughter. Mahanon smirked and turned, but not before waggling his eyebrow at the other mage, who continued to chuckle as the elf made his way out of the garden. Time to turn up the heat on the Game.

 

Florianne had probably seen Mahanon’s reappearance back into the ballroom, but she did not otherwise make a reaction to it. The elf moved over to Cullen, who looked a little frazzled.

“Thank the Maker you’re back! The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?” Cullen asked. Mahanon looked over to the other side as Florianne began moving to greet her cousin.

“Wait here, Cullen. I’m going to have a word with the grand Duchess,” he replied.

“What?! There’s no time! The Empress will begin her speech at any moment!” Cullen protested, but Mahanon just smiled and the commander frowned deeply. There was worry etched onto his face, but Mahanon gave him a gentle clap on the shoulder before he moved away.

“It’ll be fine. I know just what I need to do with this,” the elf assured him, then walked away. He took to the stairs, heading straight for the two cousins and the Empress, talking them between.

“Inquisitor?” Celene asked.

“We owe the court one more show, Your Grace,” the Inquisitor called out, stopping right before the stairs as loud gasps rang around the room. Josephine would yell at him later for this, but it needed to be done and if he could avoid a fight, he would. She turned then, to face him.

“Inquisitor,” she greeted him, calmly, but he could see her hands trembling, albeit very faintly. He smirked and starting moving up the stairs.

“The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace, remember to smile. This is your party. So you wouldn’t want them to think you’ve lost control,” Mahanon said, reaching the top of the stairs. Florianne was slowly backing away, but she mustered a fake smile.

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” she offered back and he stopped before her, then straightened and put his hands behind his back, he started walking, waltzing like he owned the place. Dorian would be so proud of him. Gasps and whispers started up once he started talking again.

“I seem to recall you saying, “All I needed was to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike,” and when your archers failed to kill me in the gardens.” Loud gasps filled the space as he stopped talking for a short moment. “I feared you wouldn’t save me this last dance. It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your own brother for the murder of a council emissary,” Lavellan explained as he came full circle to stop before her once more. “It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds, all your enemies under one roof. You even hoped to undo what little good the elves were hoping to create,” Mahanon grit out, but kept his smirk firmly in place. She was startled, she had failed now, lost control and the Game was his. The startled whispers grew louder and Florianne tried to smile, but it came out oddly pinched and nervous.

“This is very entertaining, but you do not imagine believes your wild stories?” she asked as she stepped back a bit again.

“That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin,” Celene stated firmly, staring down from the alcove above. Mahanon hoped he could rekindle the Empress’ friendship with Briala, that meant she’d act much firmly on the elves bad situation too. Plus, he had enough blackmail to keep both in a leash should he need to. And he would, if it benefitted elves. Florianne turned to Gaspard then.

“Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never-” Florianne tried, but Gaspard turned and walked away, Briala following, a thankful smile to Mahanon as she went. Two guards came down the same stairs they went up.

“It’s over, Duchess,” Mahanon stated.

“Gaspard?!” Florianne didn’t get an answer as she backed away, hands up as the guards took place on either side, blocking her path. She collapsed on the floor. Another guard came up the stairs he’d come up.

“You lost this fight long ago, Your  _ Grace _ . You were just the last one to find out,” Mahanon all but sneered as the guard passed him and grabbed her arm. She sobbed, yanked up to her feet and dragged away. Once she was gone, he turned to Celene.

“Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private, elsewhere.”

 

As soon as Morrigan was gone, Mahanon let out a sigh, leaning on the railing. He’d saved the Empresses life, reaffirmed her bond with her former lover, now a marquise with a high enough position to help out elves and their condition. It was tiring and left him with a bitter taste on his lips. Gaspard was to be executed, but Mahanon couldn’t really find it in him to care as the shemlen didn’t have even the slightest of his trust. Footsteps behind him had him twitching.

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you, said she had twelve daughters. I told her you’d left already,” Dorian called out as he came to a stop on Mahanon’s right side. Cullen appeared on his left.

“Thanks…” Lavellan muttered, closing his eyes as Cullen laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I was worried about you- both of you, tonight. I’m glad it’s all over with,” he added. Mahanon hummed, dropping his head a little.

“You look lost in thought. Something on your mind?” Dorian asked, resting on the railing alongside him. Cullen’s hand was warm and calmed him, enough that he could let out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d wanted out a long time ago. The elf reached out to touch the hand, but soon after returned to the previous position.

“I’m just tired… it’s been an awfully long day,” he muttered, shaking his head a little. Dorian chuckled and Mahanon looked up at him.

“You won! You saved the day. Literally, the day is saved. You should be celebrating! Enjoy yourself while you can,” Dorian told him, waved a hand in the general direction of the ball. Mahanon just sighed and turned away to stare out over the landscape. Cullen chuckled.

“A distraction then,” he offered and the elf looked at him, surprised. Dorian snickered, smirk in place.

“A distraction?” Lavellan asked, frowning. Cullen smiled and stepped away before he bowed before him, holding out a hand. There was a playful smile on his face. Dorian raised an eyebrow, turned to lean against the railing before he crossed his arms.

“Of course. Might I have this dance, my Lord?” Cullen asked. Mahanon snorted.

“I thought you didn’t dance? And do not call me that.  _ Ever _ ,” he replied, taking the offered hand with a smile. Dorian just chuckled, looking rather pleased as he watched. Cullen smiled, cheeks dusted with red in the moonlight.

“For you, I’ll try,” Cullen replied, chuckling as he dragged Mahanon into his arms, easily leading him along. Mahanon narrowed his eyes, but smiled.

“You’re doing rather well for someone who doesn’t dance,” he murmured.

“I’m glad you think my poor dancing skills are good,” Cullen answered and Dorian chuckled.

“I’ll go get some refreshments. Do leave a dance for me, yes? Both of you that is,” he called before he left to get these refreshments. How he’d manage three glasses were beyond Mahanon, but he didn’t bother asking. Cullen smiled widely, leaning into nuzzle his cheek. The elf’s face heated up and he stuttered.

“You were great today,” Cullen murmured and Mahanon smiled.

“Thank you, it- I had your help after all. You are all so good at things like this, and I’m not equipped the handle shemlen politics- I-I mean, human politics,” Mahanon quickly added and Cullen chuckled.

“It’s alright, I’d call them shemlen too. They are rather annoying,” the commander admitted.

“Because they kept flirting with you? I heard that that marquise kept touching you.” Cullen jerked back, eyes wide and mouth flapping as he tried to find the right words.

“Ah- d-don’t worry, he didn’t do much after you- I mean-” Cullen shut his mouth with a clack and Mahanon laughed, grinning at him.

“Good. He was rather pesky,” he stated and Cullen’s lips turned into a smile as he brought him close. Pressed against him, Mahanon could feel his heartbeat, calming to him even though it was racing in the commander’s chest, as if trying to break out. 

“Now, now, if you start kissing out here. Where will that leave me?” Dorian asked as he appeared, glasses in hand. He had, somehow managed to juggle three glass, two of which he sat down on the railing. Dorian smirked at them once he turned, winking at them. Mahanon blushed and pressed his face into the crock of Cullen’s neck. He was certain the commander was blushing too.

“Then obviously I’ll kiss you next,” Cullen simply stated Mahanon startled, fingers tightening in the hold. Dorian made a noise, like a pleased cat and drew near. Moving his head a little, the elf caught sight of the Tevinter mage leaning over him and kissing Cullen full on the mouth. Brown eyes widened slightly, before they closed and one of the arms previously wound around Mahanon, reached out to Dorian. The mage made a content noise as he pressed closer, trapping the elf between them. It was warm and hot and his mind was growing hazy with need.

“If you two are quite done…” he muttered, hiding his face again because his body was responding to his mind and he had no doubt Cullen could feel it, if the way he tensed and then ground his hips against him were of any sign.

“Kaffas. Nearest room with a lock, now,” Dorian cursed, pulling away, his own hips grinding against Mahanon’s back. The elf gasped, shuddering. Cullen’s cheeks reddened.

“Here?! Now?!” he hissed, but he didn’t seem to averse to the idea.

“Better than jerking off out on the balcony, no? We’ve explored this place, we might even be able to find a room that doesn’t have a corpse in it,” Dorian offered and Mahanon groaned.

“You are impossible,” he huffed.

“Only with you two, amatus. Come now, this’ll be fun.”

**Author's Note:**

> And they got busy in a room they thought were locked.  
> A marquise walked in on them. She fainted.


End file.
